What You Are in the Dark
by Jet Engine
Summary: "I am not suicidal. Not as much as I once was, though I do have my, eh, moments. If you knew what I know, if you had done half the things that I had done, you would likely have those moments as well. Only a truly evil creature would be immune to such horrors." Meta Knight backstory fic. Warnings inside.
1. Prologue

**Warning: This story contains dark themes such as death, PTSD, panic attacks, self-harm, suicidal thoughts, and _maybe_ rape if I'm feeling evil enough. Please proceed with caution as you read the very twisted past I have given my favorite _Kirby_ character.**

 **Also, this is the anime-verse, but there are a lot of video game elements as well.**

* * *

 **Prologue: Man of Mystery**

" _Behind every mask there is a face, and behind that a story." - Marty Rubin_

Small, spherical body. Dark blue in color. Short arms and hands that bare thumbs but no actual fingers, hands that are covered in scars of various sizes. Large, purple feet. Blue "cape" that morphs into large bat-like wings at will. Pink cheek marks, big eyes that are naturally yellow but change with one's current mood. "Scars" that mar an otherwise cutesy face.

When you look at me, what do you see?

Now, add pauldrons, sabatons, and a large sword with a deeply serrated blade. And, of course, the silvery mask that covers all but the color-changing eyes which, due to the cut of the mask, seem to be in a permanent scowl. The cape is often wrapped tightly around the body.

When you look at this version of myself, what do you see?

Go on and think for a moment. Visualize these descriptions.

What do you see?

Do not answer, my friend, for I already know.

Version A is a cute, harmless-looking creature who could melt hearts simply by smiling. Surely only someone truly wicked would dare strike such an _innocent_ little creature.

Well, you would be half-right.

Version B is a knight. Someone with noble intentions and a chivalrous heart. He could very well be the anti-hero of his story, but that title still has "hero" in it, yes?

Again, you are half-right.

Now, you may be wondering… When I look in the mirror, what do _I_ see?

Heh. I see a lot of things that you do not. But, that isn't your fault. You are merely...uninformed.

In my eyes, Version A is...well...adorable; I'll be perfectly honest. Battle-worn, yes, but still rather adorable. But, going beyond mere appearances, Version A is… Hm. How do I say this? Version A is a man. A man with a story to tell and no desire to tell it. A man who learned too soon that the world is a dangerous place, that life isn't fair and that karma doesn't exist.

...Or, maybe it does and is...just selective? Hard to tell.

Anyway, Version B. Confident, fearless, distant but not cold, hardened but not unkind. Someone I try to be. Someone a younger me would surely look up to. Someone others call a warrior, a hero even.

Bah.

Version B is a facade. You may even call it a means of coping.

Version B is not me, but Version A really isn't either. Sometimes, even I don't know who I am. In my darker moments, I often find myself wishing that I simply...wasn't.

I am not suicidal. Not as much as I once was, though I do have my, eh, moments. If you knew what I know, if you had done half the things that I had done, you would likely have those moments as well. Only a truly evil creature would be immune to such horrors.

Reminds me of an old nursery rhyme my mother would sing to me. You likely have never heard it. _Butterfly, Butterfly_ was quite possibly lost to the ages, but I remember it fondly.

"Butterfly, butterfly, fly, fly away.

Butterfly, butterfly, won't you stay?

I know, yes I know, that you need to leave.

But, butterfly, won't you stay with me?"

A charming little tune, but like many nursery rhymes, its meaning is rather dark. Put simply, it is about death. It is about losing someone you care about, coming to terms with their death but still longing for them to be beside you once more. Much like a how small child wants to play with a butterfly that is just not interested in playtime.

Ah, I remember those days. Chasing butterflies, listening to nursery rhymes, believing in fairy tales, eating dirt. Yes, I was one of those kids. Though, in my defense, my species can eat anything, quite literally _anything_ , and suffer little-to-no ill effects. I once ate an old tire in one bite. No joke. I was pretty desperate.

But getting back on topic. I want you to think back to those two versions of myself. Think about those visuals, as well as everything (minus my...appetite) that I just told you. Think long and hard then tell me.

What do you see?

* * *

 **Vague, I know. Super vague. I think a lot of this was me trying to get into Meta Knight's character, especially since I'm not used to writing first person present-tense like this. How'd I do?**


	2. Not Quite Romeo and Juliet

**Whew! Chapter one is here! Not a whole lot of action in this one, but enjoy seeing Young Adult Meta interacting with a sane person and a maniac.**

* * *

 **Chapter One: Not Quite Romeo and Juliet**

" _Every girl has this male friend who is just a friend, but the whole universe thinks he is not just a friend." - Unknown_

You know what makes for a good morning? Clear skies, a temperature that's warm but not too warm, and a good harvest. And, that's exactly what nature has given us. I pull my straw hat tighter on my head and carry my basket out to the field, wondering where I should start.

The chi-chi peppers have grown much larger than they usually do, which is pretty impressive, considering how this the end of their season. They're also a nice, neutral blue, which means that they're just spicy enough.

Then again, maximatos are well-known for their healing properties, so perhaps those should be a priority.

Then again...nectarberries are a personal favorite of mine. My mother hates them because of how sweet they are, but I confess that anything overwhelmingly sweet has always been a bit of a guilty pleasure for me.

I could fly up to the butter tree and pick some of its fruits, but they're pretty soft and I always manage to squeeze them too hard.

And, that's just the tip of the wingspan. So many fruits and vegetables, so little time. There's just something fun and rewarding about growing your own food. Sure, Mom and I sell our produce at the farmers' market, but we don't sell all of it. And, honestly, freshly grown food just tastes better somehow.

The life of a farmer is a fairly simple one, but it's mine.

My feathery wings shiver slightly in excitement. This has to be the best harvest in years! I turn back to the open door of our cottage. "Hurry up, Mom!" I call.

I don't wait for her before rushing to the nearest crop: nectarberries. The small, pink berries are so ripe and so...tempting. I pluck one off the bush and pop it in my mouth. The soft, almost fuzzy skin tickles the roof of the mouth. Then I bite down, letting the sweet, sweet juices coat my tongue. I allow myself the tiniest of moans before swallowing and plucking more berries, this time putting them in the basket. Well, most of them.

"Don't eat them all, Meta," my mother scolds playfully. She knows me too well.

Like the...obedient young man that I am, I turn around and smile innocently at her. She smiles and rolls her eyes from where she's standing in the butter tree. As butterflies flutter about the treetop, she continues picking its fruits and putting them in her own basket as she says to me, "You've had your wings for three months now, son. That means you can stop acting like a child."

"Okay," I tell her, knowing full well that my eyes likely turned pink at that comment. "I'll do that just as soon as you stop hoarding all my old baby stuff."

She pouts. "You're still a baby to me."

"I'm an adult, Mom. I have wings, and you have a problem."

At first glance, you probably wouldn't know my mother and I were related. I'm dark blue with purple feet, she's dark purple with orange feet. I have silver, feathery wings, she has brown, moth-like wings. I'm bald, she has wavy, black hair- Okay, the hair-thing is just the difference in our genders, but even so. The only real similarity in our appearance is our matching pink cheek marks and yellow eyes, and I'm the one with the rainbow iris (or the eyes-that-change-color-with-your-mood-for-some-reason) gene. Seems to me that I got my personality from my mother and my looks and eye genetics from my father. Of course, I only know that from pictures. Dad died of Star Sickness when I was a baby, so I don't really remember him.

As Mom and I continue gathering our crops, my mind wanders to the farmer's market. We would be heading down there this afternoon to sell our wares and perhaps purchase someone else's. Nothing unusual in itself, but today is different. Tonight is the Children's Festival, the most important time of the year, and the Stars know that the market will be busier because of it.

* * *

As predicted, the farmer's market is bustling with activity. Pufflings from all over the village come here for food and whatever else they can find. Rainstein appears to be showing off the wood carvings he made, but I am quite certain that he's actually just flirting with Lillie. (I find myself wondering when Lillie will get a clue.) Aleeshia and Tones are trying to keep their son from stealing candy from the stand next to them. Travelers are trying to bargain with whoever they can. Typical farmer's market things.

So far, Mom and I are making a nice profit on our crops. Though, we seem to be mysteriously low on nectarberries. Not that I would know anything about that… Eh, not many people buy them anyway. Someone has to eat them, right?

Just as Mom is reprimanding me for my snacking, I hear someone calling me. And, by "calling me," I mean that there is a person screaming my name and shoving people aside to get to me quicker. Despite her...vibrant personality, everything about her physical appearance is extremely pale. Her pink skin, her white feet and cheek marks, her sandy hair, her creamy yellow cape, even her eyes are a milky blue. As if her screaming and flailing didn't make her stand out enough.

She pushes a potential buyer out of the way, slams her hands on the table in front of me, and grins at me, her pale eyes wide and excited. "Meta, you need to see this!"

I raise my brow at her antics. Urilia may be my best friend, but that doesn't mean she gets special treatment. I clear my throat and address her using my salesman voice. "Forgive me, Miss, but I'm helping someone else right now. But," I raise a hand to my baffled mother next to me, "I am certain that my colleague would be more than happy to assist you."

"Uh, no. You...handle that." Mom says awkwardly. It's not that she doesn't like Urilia (I think); she just...doesn't know how to handle my friend. Can't say I blame her. "As for you, sir," she addresses the confused buyer and leads him away from us, "why don't I help you out over here. Sorry about my son's friend."

As I sigh and pinch between my eyes, Urilia waves at my mother. "Hi, Hirsho!" Then she slams down on the table again. "Meta, you need to see this!"

I roll my eyes and fight the smile that's trying to pull at my mouth. Polar opposites in every way except species, yet we've been close since we were still saying "poyo." Sometimes I wonder how we've managed to be such great friends for so long. I also wonder how her own mothers haven't been driven insane at this point. "Very well, Urilia," I say, knowing I'll just end up giving in to the madness whether I want to or not. It's the dance we do. "What stupid thing do you plan on dragging me into this time?"

Urilia tilts her heads and pouts, her long bangs flying over her eyes. I'm not sure if she's trying to grow out her bangs or if she simply needs a haircut. "C'mon, Meta. This is cool." I place one hand on my side and twirl my other hand in front of me, silently asking her to continue her tirade. She smiles again, showing off those pearly whites of hers, and claps her hands. "Okay. So, do you know anything about the crazy building?"

This peaks my interest, as I have seen alien workers on the outskirts of the village. "A...building, you say. Is that what's been going on out there?"

Urilia nods. "Yep. Looks like it's almost finished. Wanna go check it out?"

Over the past week, I have been hearing sounds of construction foreign to my Lightstarian hearing. From a distance, I would see strange machinery that I couldn't put a name to, silhouettes that did not look like those of the puffling race. I have asked around, but no one else seems to know anything about it either. While I have learned long ago to not question the ways of the alien travelers that occasionally arrive on my beloved planet, my curiosity is most certainly piqued. Trespassing is frowned upon no matter where you go, but nothing says we can't get a bit closer. Just to make sure that nothing...untoward is happening, yes?

My mind made up, I nod. "Very well, my friend. But, let's wait until later." I spread out my arms, indicating the crowd around us. "Business is, as they say, booming at the moment. It wouldn't be proper to leave my mother alone with the crowd. The Stars know how wild it gets this time of year."

Urilia pouts again, but she knows that arguing with me would be a wasted effort. "Alright." She points accusingly at me. "But, if we miss the Children's Festival because _you_ insisted we wait, it's your fault."

I waved dismissively. "Yes, yes, whatever. Now run along, and I'll see you when the market closes."

* * *

 **Three guesses as to what all that alien stuff is about. I feel like it's both obvious and not obvious. I don't know. Review!**


	3. The Young and the Reckless

**And, we're back. Time to find out what was up with that mysterious building. Some of you may be surprised.**

* * *

 **Chapter Two: The Young and the Reckless**

" _All things truly wicked start from innocence" - Ernest Hemingway_

Urilia is like that younger sister who won't stop bugging you. Granted, I have no siblings to draw a comparison from, but I'm quite confident that's what she's like. Meanwhile, the other member of our little group, Damien, is more like an overprotective older sibling. I suppose this makes me the shy and quiet middle child.

Ah, I suppose I have not mentioned them yet, have I? Well, Urilia and I may have met as toddlers, but Damien didn't come around until a few years later. Long story short, we were screwing around in her yard when we saw them walking around with a backpack. They seemed rather upset, though we weren't sure why. Urilia, being the kind soul that she is, picked the nearest flower (I didn't have the heart to tell her it was actually a weed), and gave it to them. Naturally, Damien was confused, but Urilia was persistent. They seemed to think it was cute.

They stayed with Urilia's mothers after that, but it wasn't until many years later that we would find out why they had run away in the first place.

* * *

After a hectic but rewarding day at the market, it was always nice to unwind with my closest companions. But, seeing as the dark green puffling - Damien - is holding Urilia by the foot, struggling to keep her from flying over the fence, something tells me my adrenaline won't settle just yet.

My friends are too busy with their (read: Urilia's) shenanigans to notice me, so I clear my throat. They both turn around and smile. Urilia descends and folds her cream-colored butterfly wings back into their cape-form. "'Bout time you showed up," she says.

I nod in acknowledgement and say to Damien, "She roped you into this too, I see." They just shrug.

I approach the wiry fence, gazing curiously at the structure within. It is an enormous cubic building, much larger than anything I've ever seen, painted a gray-purple color with very few windows. There are three odd vehicles - for construction, perhaps - but no one manning them. The workers...are on break, maybe, as I do not see any.

"What even is it?" Urilia wonders.

"Looks like prison, if you ask me," Damien says.

Hm. With the size, color scheme, and surrounding fence, I suppose it does look like a place for criminals. "Either of you see the aliens?" I ask. "Or, at least know what planet they're from?"

Damien leans back against the fence, arms crossed. "I hear they're from Shiverstar."

"Shiverstar?" Urilia sounds doubtful. "Isn't that planet, like, completely dead or something?"

"Not necessarily," Damien argues. "Shiverstarians are probably use to the cold."

"But, it's _warm_ here. Warm and boring. If they are from Shiverstar, why would they come _here_?"

I add in my two cents. "Shiverstar or not, their reasoning for being here likely has something to do with all of this." I raise my hands to the building. Suddenly, I notice the smoke coming from the two...chimneys on the roof. I hope that's from a fireplace and not pollution.

Urilia brings her wings back out. "Just standing here is dumb. Let's get in there and see what's going on."

"That's called trespassing, Urilia," Damien says.

"Please. It's only trespassing if you get caught."

"Therefore," I say, drawing out my own wings, "we should avoid getting caught."

Damien stares in stunned silence at both of us then shakes their head. "You guys are crazy." Their burnt orange cape morphs into a pair of feathery wings. "Well, someone's gotta make sure you two don't get arrested."

Urilia slaps them hard on the back. "That's the spirit!"

On that extremely unnecessary note, she takes off into the sky toward one of the upper floors. Damien and I look at each other, shrug at her antics, and fly in her direction.

I've always loved flying. The wind in your face, the sights you can only see from above ground. Truly an experience, and I almost pity those without the ability. Damien and I occasionally have a friendly competition to see who fly the fastest. It's usually them, but I like to think that's only because they've had their wings longer than I. But, I digress.

Urilia is hovering about halfway-up the building, staring into one of the few windows. I attempt to look over her, but it's difficult to get a good look with her blocking my line of sight.

"See anything?" I ask, hoping my tone will push her out of my way so I don't have to.

"Perhaps a triggered alarm?" Damien snarks next to me.

Urilia doesn't move. She just keeps staring inside. "Looks like some kind of assembly line," she says, "but with machines doing all the work."

Since Damien is slightly less polite than me, they push her out of the way so that they and I might have a look. The inside of the building is...certainly different. There is a very long table, and part of it...appears to be moving? Various objects are on the moving portion, though the Stars know where they are heading. Behind the odd table, I see large cylinders that appear to have something in them, but I can't tell what. Aliens roam about, talking, writing on clipboards, examining and/or working with the many machines and cylinders. What on Lightstar is this place?

"Freaky," Damien comments. "Wonder what they're doing in there."

"Wonder what they're doing _here_ ," I mutter. Warning bells are chiming in my head, though for life of me I can't figure out why.

Then all three of us freeze. One of the aliens has spotted us. It as a head that is far too large for its small, curvy body and pupil-less dark green eyes that are too large for its pale face, which does not have a visible mouth. Stranger still, it has no arms, yet it has hands which seem to be floating as though there really are arms. I'm not even sure if this creature has legs or at least feet. It is difficult to tell with the long tan cloth wrapped around its torso. Its dark pink hair is pulled into a tight bun at the top of its head with a few strands escaping and falling around its face. Not that it seems to mind. It pulls its white lab coat almost protectively over the small bulge on its stomach. As it appears to float over to us - staying very close to the ground - I'm beginning to think it has no legs or feet.

I don't know why none of us move as it...glides up to the window, unlocks it, and opens it. Perhaps we are simply paralyzed with indecision. On one hand, we are all curious. On the other hand, well, these creatures could be quite hostile for all we know.

The alien rests one hand on the window sill and brings the other hand to its chin. Its high and delicate voice leads me to believe that it is a female. "A couple of natives, I see."

Damien immediately points to Urilia and me. "This was their idea. I wanted no part of it."

Uh, you did not have to come, you know.

But, the female takes no notice of my and Urilia's irritation. She simply laughs - a dainty, pretty sound - and says, "My name is Marigold. Marigold Haltmann. My husband and I run this factory. Since you are all curious, would you like a look around?"

Is...she serious? We trespass on her land, and her only response is to offer us a tour? This can't be that simple. The woman clearly has something up her...lack of sleeve. I glance at Damien, and they look just as suspicious.

But, Urilia always was quick to trust people. "Would we ever!" she exclaims.

" _Would_ we ever, though?" I ask, only to have Urilia grab my and Damien's hands and drag us through the window.

* * *

 **I wanted to make this longer but I'm trying to keep my chapter lengths somewhat consistent so this will have to pacify all of you for now. Review!**


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